


Styrofoam

by churb



Category: Pinky and the Brain
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Weight Issues, he doesn't eat much but that's a combination of things, he doesn't really have one, i fucking love college!patb don't test me, i'm just tagging it in case anyone's triggered by it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churb/pseuds/churb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ooh, Brain, you're huffing and puffing like a chubby boy."<br/>"I thought we agreed not to joke about that."</p><p>--Welcome To The Jungle, 1995.</p><p>[[FIC IS CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN to be like. more ic n stuff. you can read it now if you WANT to but it's kind of shite and canon divergent and ooc n all so. there's that ]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Styrofoam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stellana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellana/gifts).



> i've been writing this fanfic for six hours.
> 
> SIX HOURS, ZIM.
> 
> anyway please take it

If he had to put a time to when the whole thing started he would say it was probably when he was about twelve.

He’d been doing the class since he was eight, or nine, he doesn’t remember, he’s not a dancer as such but gymnastics has always interested him, and he bears the stigma of being the only boy in the class because this is something he’s passionate about. He really, really, wants to keep doing it, and it contrasts all his other interests, he’s not artistic and he gets As and 100s in maths and science and brings home D, see me, for art class, but he’s good at this, okay. His mom says he might be famous for it but she’s his mom and he could successfully peel an orange and she’d probably think he could be a professional in that.

So he’s about twelve and he’s out of breath and dizzy because all these backflips kind of take it out of him and one of the seniors is watching him, judging him even, and then she approaches and asks if he wants advice. He says yes, he’s not as arrogant at twelve as he is when he’s an adult, and he can actually accept help.

“You could probably work on your landing.” She says. “Your legs aren’t tucked in enough, and you’re leaning back too much at the beginning. You can’t be scared of it.”

He feels the need to mention in response that he doesn’t see why it matters. He’s moving into rhythmic, he says, and he doesn’t see the point of whatever effed up acrobatics he’s doing. The response he gets are a pair of raised eyebrows and he’s curtly informed that it’s a warmup, and if he can’t handle it, maybe he should drop out.

And then she says “And if that’s what you’re trying to do, my advice would be to lose weight.”

He stares. She smirks.

“Gymnasts have to be light.” She says. “And...you’re not really light, are you.” Her facial expression only adds to the horrible sinking feeling in his gut as she saunters away and reiterates that it’s just advice, and he’s perfectly welcome to not take it, or maybe consider another option.

When he gets back in the car after that class he cries, he doesn’t mean to, it just comes out, and his mother wraps her arms around him and assures him that he looks fine, he’s just the right size he’s a growing boy it’s his medication et cetera. Then she drives him home and makes him some tea and attempts to help him with his homework, except it’s science and her advice doesn’t particularly enhance this experience.

He doesn’t go back the next week. He lies and says he’s getting too old for it. He doesn’t think she believes him but she nods and doesn’t make him go and he doesn’t go back at all after that.

He’s bullied a fair amount at school. He’s an unfortunate combination of short and chubby and albinistic and Jewish, and he has floppy white hair and pinkish red eyes and according to his elderly relatives he’s fairly adorable. His classmates try to exorcise him (again, it’s his eyes) and joke about his height and joke about his grades (apparently being good at things is socially unacceptable in the seventh grade) and joke about his religion (though he’s starting to sort of doubt it, now) and joke about his weight. He’s the last one picked for a team in PE, he’s not very good at running and football, his classmates don’t believe it’s because of his asthma (though why he’d be on medication for something he doesn’t have god only knows) and say to him and each other that he’s just fat. Haha.

(His asthma medication is probably the worst. It bloats him and speeds up his metabolism and he spends most of the day feeling hungry because he’s not going to eat at school, okay, he gets enough shit as is without willingly subjecting himself to it. But apparently nobody he goes to school with thinks this is feasible.)

He remembers telling someone about this for the first time, his very best friend, and he’s sat in the treehouse in his friend’s garden and he opens up and he says he wishes they’d stop. He can’t help it. And he never usually bares his soul to anyone like this but it’s bothering him now and he needs to talk to somebody who isn’t his mom. His friend says it’s stupid, people shouldn’t pick on him, he looks fine the way he is, and he wants this advice to help but when he stares at the other boy he can’t help but think he doesn’t know how it feels. He’s not a girl, or anything, but if he was a girl he’d say his friend was fairly attractive, he has nice blue eyes and his hair’s a sort of strawberry blonde colour and he has no idea where he’s from but his accent’s nice.

But he’s not a girl, so.

(This doesn’t last, he’s sixteen now, and when he walks through the hallway he doesn’t usually have people jeer at him, but sometimes he does, and sometimes when he looks for the source of the voice he sees blue eyes and blonde hair and he hears the accent, British, upper class, and he wants to scream _what did i do wrong_ but he doesn’t and tells himself that his friend snapped, he’s a sociopath now, it’s not personal but it hurts all the same, especially because this guy knows his weak spots and he won’t stop hitting them.)

(But this is okay, he’s accepted, by now, that most people don’t want to stay with him for long.)

Being sixteen, he’s finally old enough to go to his first prom, and his teachers have put extensions on the end of term homework and his mother is quite partial to the idea, she wants him to go out and have a social life, or more of a social life than he has, and she tugs him to a store and picks out about eight different suits and ushers him in to try them on. He strips down and stares at himself and he can’t help suddenly wondering what the point it. They’re not going to look even remotely acceptable on him.

He puts one on anyway, buttons it up and does up his tie and gives himself a good long look, and he knows he’s not even that big, for god’s sake he’s wearing a 36½, but it just looks wrong and he doesn’t feel confident and he doesn’t know what’s happening to him because he sure as hell doesn’t wake up in the morning feeling like this.

Well. He didn’t.

He tells his mom a few days before prom that he doesn’t feel very well. He fakes a cold and gets his homework done and his mom is sympathetic and makes him more tea and tells him not to worry. The suit will keep, he can go when he’s 17, and 18, it’s alright.

(He does. He hates it.)

After prom he’s the only one who hands in the homework for the original deadline. His teachers are surprised but appreciative and his classmates hate him more.

-*-

He’s at college, now, he’s kind of relieved for the fresh start, he knows nobody from his school is going to be here, probably, hopefully, and they’ve sort of moved on now anyway, he guesses. He’s made another friend, and it surprises him, he’s not the sort of person he would ever even dream of being friends with, he’s a punk for fuck’s sake, he has bright pink hair and his ears are pierced and he listens to bands he himself has never even heard of, but he’s got a heart of gold and they share a medical condition and having someone around who was also bullied for being too pale, white haired, or indeed exorcised as a child is sort of comforting.

His friend has blue eyes and a British accent and he tries not to let this hurt.

So he’s sat on campus with him and he makes his way through an apple and his friend talks and talks, there’s a girl he’s got his eye on, he says, and he wants to comment but the only thing he can think of to say is “what the hell kind of name is Pharfig” but he decides that wouldn’t be very tactful.

“Do you have a special someone?” says his friend.

“No. Not yet.” He doesn’t mention that he might well be asexual. He’s not sure. It might explain a lot.

His friend blinks at him. “Surely someone’s given you a chance.”

“I’m afraid not.” He doesn’t like where this conversation is going, he know the intention isn’t to hurt, but his friend isn’t very tactful, and shuffles closer, wrapping an arm around him.

“Well, I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t want you.” He says. “You’re so cute! You’re little and tiny and so chubby!”

His blood runs cold.

His friend continues. “Like an adorable little snowman!” He says, and pokes his stomach, and _laughs_ , and it’s not malicious and there’s not a malicious bone in this boy’s body but suddenly he can’t breathe he’s going to throw up oh god please st

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t joke about that.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own any more. His friend’s eyes widen.

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad! I _like_ it. I think it makes you even cuter.”

This doesn’t help.

He doesn’t eat very much during his time at college. It’s not because he’s trying to lose weight, that would be stupid, he’s smarter than that, he’s done enough Biology to know the effect that would have, it’s just because he doesn’t have time. What he does do is, when he does eat, he puts himself on a diet, he tries to lose weight in a sensible way which doesn’t really work when he barely has time to eat in the first place.

He avoids his friend, mostly, as much as he can (he’s his roommate after all) and one time he comes back to their room to find a little apology card explaining that he knows he’s probably still hurt, he didn’t mean it, he thinks he looks lovely, and under the card wrapped in fancy little paper is

a box of chocolates.

He stares at this gift for a full minute while wondering how on earth one person could possibly be so oblivious.

(He shares them around his class. His friend asks him if they were nice and he smiles and says they were lovely. He doesn’t feel as bad about lying as he probably should.)

(His classmates kind of like him now, at least.)

He’s not losing weight, and he doesn’t understand why, he’s subsisting on salads when he gets time to eat, and a salad isn’t exactly particularly calorific. He’s not losing weight but he is losing energy, he feels dizzy a lot, now, and he’s still turning in the same standard of work but it’s getting harder to do and for the first time in his life he actually has to put _effort_ in.

Maybe he’s not the genius his teachers said he was.

He gets sick a little later on, not from not eating, it’s a virus going around, and he gets some time off for medical leave but he doesn’t relax, he’s so stressed about the work he has to do, but he can’t do it so he just sits there and has multiple panic attacks and his friend brings him up soup a little later on.

He’s not sure whether he’s not hungry or whether he doesn’t want to eat, but he doesn’t want to eat, and he says so, and he’s expecting his friend to be okay with this but instead he’s given the bowl anyway.

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

He says he doesn’t really need to. His friend stills, and sighs, and asks if this is what this is all about. He’s not entirely sure what he’s getting at.

“You’re not eating enough.” His friend says. “It’s not some sort of crazy diet gimmick, is it? Oh, I really don’t believe in those. They do more harm than good.”

“I am dieting. I am, however, not starving myself. How stupid do you think I am?”

“You don’t have to be stupid.” His friend shuffles a little closer and gives him a spoon. “It’s going to get cold.”

“I appreciate the effort. But I’m really not hungry right now, please, just leave me be--”

The spoon is taken from him, loaded up, and held to his mouth.

“"The next train to depart is the four thirteen service to Burbank, California! Calling at Glendale, Pasadena, San Fernando--”

It’s said in some sort of faux train announcer voice, and he wonders if it’s a British thing as he pushes his friend’s arm away. “Oh, fuck off.”

He would expect anyone else to stop trying, but the spoon is given back to him. “Oh, well then, alright. You’re a big boy now, I suppose. They do grow up so fast.” Zort. Fake tears. This prompts a blank stare before he decides to put this out of his mind. He really does not get this guy’s sense of humour, sometimes.

He eats the soup because he feels like he has to. It does not make him feel any better.

He doesn’t recover as quickly as he usually does, he feels dizzy and weak and so so sick, and he keeps being brought soup and he doesn’t feel like it’s helping and he’s probably putting so much weight on, what’s he doing, he needs to get up he needs to do something, and then he wonders what’s wrong with him because he was never this insecure he never used to think like this.

Maybe it’s just the virus.

When he does eventually sleep he sleeps for a while, and then he feels better, and when he gets back to class it doesn’t take him long to catch back up, but the effort is still there, it’s not as flawless as it was when he was a kid. Is it because it’s harder? No, it can’t be, his first while at college was just as easy. It’s just hard now and he doesn’t understand why. So he spends more time studying which means he gets less time to eat and the cycle continues.

Nearer the end of his second semester, he’s sat at his table staring at his paper and working up the motivation to do it and his friend sits next to him and pushes a plate towards him and tells him to eat.

“I’m busy.” He doesn’t even look at it.

His friend closes the lid of his laptop and confiscates the paper, and when he looks up the plate is pushed a little nearer and he’s never seen his friend angry before but he’s angry now, just a little, he doesn’t sound like he’s angry with him, but he’s acting more forceful than usual and tells him that he’s going to eat it.

He says he’s not hungry and he doesn’t understand the problem.

“You just keep skipping meals, that’s all. You’ve been doing it for an awfully long time now and it’s really not a good thing. I’ve known you since the beginning of term and I’ve barely seen you eat since then.”

“I’m busy.” He repeats, and then, as an afterthought, “And it’s not like I really need to.”

“Well, you keep saying that, but you do. Especially with all the stress you’re putting yourself under.” He wants to be curt and ask how the fuck he knows about stress, he’s doing a degree in _art_ , like that’s _hard_ , but that would be unnecessarily cruel, because it is hard. He reminds himself not to be a douche.

All he can respond to that with is “I’m fine.” He doesn’t want this to persist, but this is his friend he’s talking about, he doesn’t know what else he expected.

“But you’re _not_ fine. You haven’t had one straight meal since you got here. And don’t try to argue with me, because I know you haven’t, and you really can’t live on lettuce sandwiches.”

He opens his mouth, tries to respond.

“Now. Eat something. Or it’ll get cold and it’ll be all gross and yucky, and I’m not really the best cook anyway. Haha.” Narf. Was that even a word. He’s used to it by now so he doesn’t question it.

And then he says “Are you sure it’s not about your weight? I know you’re insecure about it.”

Suddenly he can’t breathe again.

“What? No. Of course I’m no--” He’s cut off.

“I’m not stupid. You go all quiet whenever anyone mentions it. And you got so sad when I joked about it. I’m really, really sorry if I upset you--”

“You already clarified that it was unintentional.”

“Well, yes, but I still feel bad. Especially if...” He pauses, doesn’t continue his thought, even though it’s obvious, and he knows what his friend is thinking.

He instead continues with “...Please, just promise me you’re not eating because you don’t have time. Because if that’s not it then--”

“That’s it.” He informs him. “I’m fine. I just don’t get hungry. And I would rather not debate this.”

And the conversation ends there.

So he just stares at his meal for a while, stirs the pasta around the plate, he doesn’t really want to eat, but his friend is staring at him and it’s forceful, it feels like he doesn’t have a choice (and he’s kind of hot when he does tha) (wait WHAT no no no no n o god no)

Anyway. He feels pressured into it. So he starts eating. He really, really doesn’t want it, but it tastes okay, and he can’t help but feel slightly flattered that his friend cares enough to do something like this for him.

(He’s not really used to it.)

-*-

This persists.

Through the rest of his time at college, his friend consistently makes him food. It’s not always at the same time, but he’ll be in his room and suddenly there’ll be a plate of something dropped on his lap. (It’s usually pasta. It’s quite hard to mess up pasta, and it’s reasonably cheap.)

He questions it at first. He challenges his friend’s perception of his maturity, what, does he not think he’s capable of making his own food? And he soon backs down when his friend says no. Because really, he’s not entirely sure how to respond to that.

Along the way, he notices that his weight doesn’t fluctuate. It stays where it is. He went from eating fairly normally to living on salad to quite literally having carbs thrown at him and throughout this entire thing, since he was about fifteen, his weight hasn’t changed at all.

This worries him.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, even though it’s hard to ignore it. He really doesn’t like eating in front of people, it makes him feel insecure, and his friend always makes something for himself too, they eat together, but his friend’s skinny and doesn’t seem to put weight on despite the fact he eats twice the amount--

He doesn’t want to think about that.

When he’s twenty, his friend becomes his boyfriend.

It’s awkward and intense and he doesn’t know how it happens, he spends his whole life thinking he was straight, possibly asexual? He doesn’t know, he’s definitely into girls, just girls, he’s not into boys at all, but.

But then, one day, he realises this isn’t strictly true.

And he keeps this secret for about six months, and it becomes excruciating, but he can’t say anything because he’s the only friend he’s got, he doesn’t really want to lose him, and if he can control a situation, then he will. He controls the situation by shutting up about his feelings.

He can’t tell anyone. He can’t tell his mom because she’s Jewish, and he’s not, not any more, he decided that whole thing wasn’t really for him, but she is and he knows it probably doesn’t fit into her beliefs (he was never really clued in on how homosexuality fit into it, he never really asked, it wasn’t really discussed, he didn’t even know other sexualities were a thing until he was worryingly into his teens) and even if it does, he’s still her son, and someone doing something outside her family might well be different to her son doing it.

He can’t tell his friend because he’s pretty sure there’s no way in hell his feelings would be reciprocated and he’s also pretty sure his friend would be disgusted with him and wouldn’t want to talk to him again.

So he keeps it bottled up and doesn’t discuss it, and even when he works out that his friend isn’t strictly into girls either (he gets a certain impression that his friend doesn’t really care. Girl? Yes please. Boy? Yes please? Rock? Okay then.) he still keeps it in because it might be different if it’s personal it might b

One night it just sort of comes out, though, and he doesn’t know why he says it he just does. He doesn’t quite remember how it happens, or why, but the end result is he has a boyfriend and feels a little happier about life in general than he did the previous few months or so.

(It makes him realise, a little later. It makes him think about being twelve and the treehouse and he suddenly comes to the awful appalling realisation that he doesn’t...have to be a girl to find his other (ex?) friend attractive. He already did. He already had a crush, his first crush, even, that’s why he was so desperate for his affection, and this leaves him sort of upset, the whole affair had dulled down to some sort of ache and an indifferent bitterness every time it was brought up, but for a short time during that night it hurts more, just like it did when he was fifteen and it first happened, and he attempts to put it out of his head and tries to sleep.)

(It explains why it hurt so much.)

It takes until this milestone happens to realise that he’s not been very happy, lately. He doesn’t want to say he’s depressed, he’s not, he’s not going to throw himself off a roof or cut up his arms, or blaring Simple Plan from his dorm room, and alright, maybe that’s not what one needs to be depressed, but he doesn’t feel sad. He sort of just feels. Indifferent. Indifferent with a side of control issues. He’s noticed those are getting worse; maybe it’s because he’s in college, he’s seen the world, and it horrifies him what an awful place it is. It makes him want to fix it.

He decides to try and ignore it.

Having a boyfriend is different to how he imagined it. When he did eventually find out that homosexuality was a thing, he was fairly ignorant about it, in the sense that he only had mainstream media to educate him and that was hardly a good example. It’s not anything like that, he discovers. It’s sort of like what having a girlfriend would be like, except it’s a. Boy.

He didn’t explain that very well.

Anyway, he feels a little better, and the company probably helps, and while he doesn’t want to admit it the affection helps as well, his mother was always rather affectionate, to an extent, but nobody else in his life was, really, so it’s not something he’s used to. He pretends to hate it. He doesn’t.

His boyfriend is very, very affectionate, now that he has the right to be, or at least now that it wouldn’t be awkward. He wraps his arms around him and kisses his face and tells him he’s adorable and he doesn’t quite believe it, not yet, but the thought counts. His boyfriend thinks the world of him and it kind of kills him because nobody’s ever done that before. He feels like he’s never been this valued before, and he doesn’t want to be depressing, he can just sort of accept it as a fact of life, it doesn’t worry him, but it’s a realisation that he has.

It helps, he thinks. He didn’t even realise his self esteem was that low until it wasn’t. Not that he doesn’t still have problems with it, and there are still some days where he looks in the mirror and he feels like he did when he was sixteen in the middle of that dressing room, but then, maybe that’s normal. He doesn’t know.

One day, he thinks, his boyfriend will tell him he looks good and he can agree with him. That’s not going to be yet, and he doesn’t know if it’s going to be soon, and he doesn’t know if his boyfriend knows that. He probably does. He’s incredibly observant. That’s why he compliments him all the time.

(And until then, he thinks, he’ll probably keep doing it. He doesn’t mind this thought as much as he pretends to.)

**Author's Note:**

> there are a lot of sensitive subjects in this fanfic and i apologise if anyone is offended or triggered
> 
> please tell me if so and i'll fix it i promise


End file.
